


all or nothing

by feistycadavers



Category: Motionless in White (Band), Tim Sköld (Musician)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Cock Piercing, Crossdressing, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Reunion Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistycadavers/pseuds/feistycadavers
Summary: “You brought The Skirt,” Chris says, sounding exceptionally stupid to his own ears. Which, Tim looks back at Chris, gives him That Smirk that confirms that Tim brought The Skirt on Purpose. That Tim made the executive decision to put The Skirt in his fucking suitcase and drag it to Europe solely for the express purpose of getting dicked the fuck down. Which is going to work, because Chris is not an idiot, but also what the fuck.in which tim brought the skirt on purpose and therefore gets his shit wrecked in the dressing room bathroom send tweet
Relationships: Chris "Motionless" Cerulli/Tim Sköld
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	all or nothing

**Author's Note:**

> [into megaphone in front of a microphone] THEY FUUUUUUCKED
> 
> look it's the same universe as fall down with me because i said so (and because i wanted chris's ladder piercings to be there okay). ricky's here a little, nero's in this for like one line of dialogue, and jon Exists but not enough to character tag them.
> 
> mandatory Spit Is Not Adequate Lube disclaimer don't uh. do this. this is not adequate preparation for anal irl. it's called fan FICTION. thanks
> 
> okay so this is another one of those messy bitches i banged out in one sitting cuz i was overwhelmed with the need to Wreck Tim's Shit. anyway you all saw this coming as soon as y'all saw the miw/skold tour announcement huh like y'all knew i was gonna have to write porn with these two morons. and then tim went and brought the skirt to europe, that fucking demon. and it's That Time Of Year where i always post a chris/tim fic, in a season julia has dubbed ChrisTimAss. cuz. christmas. chris. tim. ass. idk i think they're funny
> 
> the title's from my fave song off the skold vs. kmfdm record and i recommend listening to it on your streaming service of choice cuz the whole album slaps anyway here's the porn

It’s another fucking round of _having no goddamn time to do fucking anything_ in Germany. Chris is starting to think this country has some weird curse. Tim stopped answering his texts fifteen minutes ago when they got to the venue and their flight landed late and they probably didn’t even have time to set their own gear up before doors and just like every other time Chris has been in Germany for shows or press, everything is running late and there’s no fucking time for anything. It’s fine. He’s fine. _Really_.

Which is how Chris got impatient and stopped waiting for Tim to come to the Motionless dressing room and just. Went to the Skold one himself. He knocks and Nero answers and Chris looks past him and sees Tim sitting in an armchair. 

He’s wearing The Skirt. That _motherfucker_.

Tim looks up from his phone, his face splitting into a smile. Chris is pretty sure Tim says something like “hey, I was just texting you back” as he’s standing up, but either Chris somehow forgot how Tim’s even hotter in person somehow than he is in photos or his one brain cell just left the building. Tim grabs him, pulls him into a hug, drags him back to the planet. Right. Tim’s here. Tim he hasn’t seen in longer than he cares to put a number on. Chris mushes his face into Tim’s neck and for a moment he forgets what godforsaken piece of clothing is currently on his bottom half, till Nero makes some snide remark about getting a room and Tim pulls away to tell him to fuck off.

Which. Chris kinda wishes a motherfucker would. Jon can go too. Chris is watching Tim as he tosses his phone into the chair he was sitting in, his stupid legs, the stupid skirt.

“You brought The Skirt,” Chris says, sounding exceptionally stupid to his own ears. Which, Tim looks back at Chris, gives him That Smirk that confirms that Tim brought The Skirt on Purpose. That Tim made the executive decision to put The Skirt in his fucking suitcase and drag it to Europe solely for the express purpose of getting _dicked the fuck down_. Which is going to work, because Chris is not an idiot, but also what the fuck.

“Yeah, well, didn’t have time to get a new tour outfit,” Tim says, which may well be true, but also what the fuck.

“Pretty sure you’ve worn a few skirts in your time,” Nero says, and Chris sighs.

“Only two,” he says, which Tim snorts a laugh at. 

“Seriously, fuck off so we can get ready to play a rock show,” Tim says, giving Chris a shove. A grin. “I’ll see you later, okay.”

Okay. Okay. That’s fine.

//

They don’t even make it till all the way after the show. Tim’s still hot from the stage lights, dragging Chris into the bathroom of their dressing room between sets. Chris is halfway thinking about how _he needs to go finish putting lipstick on_ and _if there’s dirt on the knees of his vinyl pants Ricky’s never gonna let him live it down_ and _oh fuck there’s gonna be black body paint all over him when he goes back to the Motionless dressing room_ and all that but then Tim’s mouth is on his mouth, and then he can’t actually focus on anything else. Tim’s fingers are in his hair, and Chris grabs onto his hips, pulling him in, feels he’s already hard under The Skirt. Shit. Fuck. Chris whines into Tim’s open mouth and Tim scoffs a laugh back into Chris’s, bringing a hand down to grab at Chris’s tattooed neck, not letting him pull away.

“I almost forget how much prettier you are when I’m not looking at you through Facetime,” Tim remarks, and Chris goes to say something but it just comes out a weak noise when Tim drops down onto his knees.

“Fuck,” Chris says, because apparently he’s already forgotten the entire English language except for the word _fuck_. Tim’s already undoing his fly, trying to pull his pants down, but--

“God, fuck these pants,” Tim says, yanking on them and getting them down around his thighs enough he can push his face into the crotch of Chris’s underwear, wet mouth on hard cock through the fabric. “You got way too much ass and thighs to be wearing vinyl goddamn pants. I can never get them off you.”

“Tim,” Chris says, in a way that he hopes communicates that if Tim puts his dick in his mouth right now he will almost certainly come on the second stroke, but if Tim gets the message he doesn’t listen to it. He pulls Chris’s cock out and it falls against his face, brings his hand up to wrap around it.

“C’mon, it’s been how long?” Tim asks, dragging his tongue up the pierced underside, and Chris doesn’t understand how he’s using full sentences and not single word fragments. “Let me.”

“I can’t,” Chris says, but of course Tim’s already sucking him down. Chris grabs onto the doorknob for purchase, feels like his legs might give out just from Tim holding him in his mouth like that. He pulls off.

“I swear if you come in my mouth right now I’m gonna go out there in a jock strap and body paint every night and you’re just gonna have to suffer so help me god,” Tim says. Chris is pretty sure he feels his eyeball twitch.

“You brought a jock strap?” Chris asks, which is all he registered from that demand, apparently.

“ _So help me god_ , Chris,” Tim says, in no uncertain terms saying that’s a _threat_ and not a _demand_ and okay, fine, so Chris nods. He chokes on a swear as Tim goes back down, his skull knocking against the door when his head falls back, and it should hurt but it doesn’t. All he can feel is Tim’s mouth on his cock, the hand around his base, the other hand pushing his shirt up out of the way. Points of connectivity.

“Fuck,” Chris chokes out, cock jerking hard as Tim holds him all the way down, his tongue dragging against the rungs of his ladder piercing. Tim hums, clearly happy with how he’s already pulling Chris apart at the seams. Chris looks down, Tim all blue eyes ringed with black and hollowed out cheeks, and Chris figures. 

Well. Fuck it. 

He brings the hand that isn’t currently clinging to the doorknob for dear life to Tim’s head, winding in his hair, and Tim lets go of Chris’s cock, drags his hands back to rest on Chris’s thighs, and yeah. Chris is pretty sure he knows what he actually wants. Chris dicks forward into Tim’s mouth and Tim urges him on with a noise, so Chris pulls his hair. Tim sits up off his heels so Chris can get the right angle and Chris pulls him all the way down, Tim’s nose pressed into his stomach, eyes fluttering up at him. Fuck. Yeah. That’s the good shit. Tim chokes a little and Chris pulls him off, spit stringing from his cock to Tim’s mouth.

“So that’s why you brought The Skirt huh,” Chris asks, equally as breathless as Tim. Tim leans back against the opposite wall, still on his knees, hikes The Skirt up to show he is very much not wearing anything underneath his tights, the shine of precome leaking through them catching in the fluorescent lights. “Fuck’s sake,” Chris says, because he’s pretty sure his brain is leaking out his ears, and he grabs Tim by his jacket and hauls him back up onto his feet, turns him around, shoves him into the wall.

“What, you don’t like it?” Tim remarks, voice raw, but Chris doesn’t answer that because now he’s kneeling and he reaches under Tim’s skirt, grabs into the mesh of his tights, and rips them open. Tim startles a little, but Chris is digging his nails into his ass, spreading him open with his thumbs.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Chris says, before burying his face into Tim’s ass. Tim gasps above him and he licks into him, Tim reflexively arching back into the contact. Tim tastes like heat and sweat, familiar, Chris’s tongue back where he wishes it always was, really. He laves over him with the flat of his tongue, and Chris very distinctly feels Tim’s legs shake against him. Tim’s hand reaches back around, grabs tight into his hair, pulling him even closer. Chris just eats him out, tucking The Skirt up into itself by the waistband, giving him better access. Tim moans, pushes back onto Chris’s tongue when he starts licking him open.

“Fuck,” Tim chokes out, and Chris comes up for air. He rubs his thumb into Tim’s hole, sinking the first knuckle in just with the spit. Tim keens, fingers tugging at Chris’s hair.

“Where’s your lube?” Chris asks, and Tim huffs at him.

“In my fucking bag,” Tim says.

“Which is where?”

“On the fucking van, asshole.”

“What?” Chris asks, and Tim twists to look back at him.

“Did you think I was gonna bring my whole suitcase into the dressing room?” Tim asks, which, Chris kinda did, but okay.

“Well my bag’s at the hotel,” Chris says.

“I’m not waiting any more,” Tim says. “It’s already been like ten months. I’m not fucking waiting three more hours.”

“Jesus,” Chris says. “Fine. Spit it is, then.”

“Yeah?” Tim asks, sounding very much like he’s getting exactly what he wants, and Chris figures maybe he wants to get fucked kinda dry. He forgets he’s fucking another masochistic switch sometimes.

“Yeah,” Chris says, pushing his thumb in the rest of the way, and Tim muffles his moan into his arm. 

“Yeah, c’mon,” Tim says, and Chris pulls the digit out, goes back in with his tongue, works him open on it, raking his nails across the nylon stretched over Tim’s thighs. Chris only stops to replace his tongue with his fingers, two at once, because Chris is most definitely running late again and he does not have time to draw it out as much as he might like to. Chris comes back up to his feet, turns his hand over to curl his fingers in at the right angle, leaving open-mouthed kisses along Tim’s neck. “Fuck,” he hisses out. “Hurry up.”

“Do you want me to fucking rip you open?” Chris asks, which is completely facetious, but Tim’s too fucking into it to notice.

“Yeah, fuck it; I don’t care,” Tim says, need evident in his voice, and. Well. Alright. Chris swaps his fingers for the head of his cock, thumbing it in so he sinks home, and Tim fucking _purrs_. It’s fucking raw and dry and Chris swears he feels every individual barbell in his dick as he buries himself in. “Fuck. C’mon,” Tim whines.

“God, fuck, hold on,” Chris grits out, stilling there for a moment, hilted, and Tim grinds back into him. Chris lays his chest into Tim’s back, effectively pinning him to the wall as he pulls almost all the way out, then sinks back in, and Tim breathes out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s what I wore The Skirt for.” Chris actually smiles at that, scrapes his teeth over the slope of Tim’s neck.

“Thought so,” Chris says, drawing a slow stroke, and Tim moans, his head falling back over Chris’s shoulder.

“I can handle it,” Tim says, and Chris nods against his neck, hooks an arm around his chest. Chris grabs into the lapel of Tim’s jacket and starts fucking into him, pulling him back onto his cock as much as he’s pounding into him. Tim swears loudly, Chris humming into his shoulder, trying to get some purchase on the wall. It’s that desperate fuck when it’s been Way Too Long, when you finally get your hands on (or in) each other and can’t hold back. “ _Chris_ ,” Tim says urgently, and Chris gives it to him. He pulls back off the wall and pulls Tim with him, Tim grabbing onto Chris’s arm around his chest, just holding on as Chris fucks him. Chris is going hard, determined to get him to come untouched in his tights, the scrape of nylon on his cock, knowing he’s not gonna last long himself. Tim’s knees buckle a little and he has to reach to brace himself against the wall. 

“Yeah, fuck, arch a little for me,” Chris murmurs, and Tim does, and Chris wraps his hand around the waistband of The Skirt. It’s just on the pleasurable side of dry, still, all friction, Tim crying out when Chris’s piercings must drag over his insides in an especially good spot.

“There, yeah,” Tim gasps out, keening like he’s about to come. And as much as Chris really wants to draw this out more, they are, alas, in Germany, and when they’re in Germany Chris is always running late. Chris folds himself over Tim, The Skirt as his leverage, hurriedly fucking him open. “ _Fuck_ ,” Tim moans, letting Chris have his way. Which is why he wore The Skirt anyway. Just another instance of Tim getting his way even when it looks like Chris is the one taking what he wants. Chris pants into the back of Tim’s neck, his own orgasm quickly winding up.

“C’mon, come on my cock,” Chris says, his voice quiet next to Tim’s ear, and Tim shudders at the words, huffs out a breath.

“Fuck me through it,” Tim says, as if Chris wouldn’t, but then his moan breaks in his throat as he comes, shudders hard, Chris’s arm around his chest holding him up, the hand around the waistband of The Skirt pulling him back onto Chris’s dick, and Chris can’t hold it anymore either. He stills hilted inside of Tim, spilling hot inside him, and Tim bites back another moan at that, can surely feel his cock jerking as he comes. Tim gasps for air, grinds back into it, lets Chris ride it out, then slumps back forward into the wall. Chris doesn’t move, stays there, panting, leaned over onto Tim’s shoulder.

“God,” Chris mumbles. “Now I’m _really_ not gonna be able to watch your sets with you wearing this stupid skirt. It was already gonna be a challenge but this just made it like, level nine thousand.” Tim huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, “well, I don’t have enough pairs of tights for you to go ripping the ass open every night. So try not to wreck all of them.”

“Try to stop me.”

“Then you’re buying me new ones.”

“A fair price to pay,” Chris remarks. He kisses Tim’s temple and pulls away, Tim hissing a little when he slides out, only half hard still. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “I’m fuckin’ old. I can’t do vertical sex like I used to.”

“Whatever old man,” Chris says. Tim swats him. “I gotta go clean up for _my_ show now, since you were so impatient--”

“Okay, go, I gotta trash these tights now,” Tim says, lifting the front of The Skirt. There’s come running down the black mesh and Chris has to swallow dryly and focus on pulling his own pants back up so as not to do something especially embarrassing like suck it all out of the fabric. Nope. It’ll have to wait for another day.

When Chris actually comes out of the bathroom, Ricky’s coming into the dressing room at the same time. Chris startles hard, mostly because he’s sure he looks very much like he just had a quickie in said bathroom.

“Jesus Christ, we’re all _waiting_ for you,” Ricky says. “I thought you might be in here."

“Yeah, uh,” Chris says, “I was uh. Fuckin’. Busy.”

“Busy fuckin’,” Tim calls from the bathroom. Chris winces.

“Oh my god,” Ricky says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can I have my singer back now? Are you done with him?”

“Yeah, just drop him back off at my hotel room later,” Tim remarks. “Try to bring him back to me in one piece.”

Tour is going to be very long.

**Author's Note:**

> ao3userfeistycadavers.tumblr.com


End file.
